


An Excerpt from On Reading Ivalice

by whitachi



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-11 14:39:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/799839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitachi/pseuds/whitachi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His Excellency al-Cid of Rozarria had no hesitance in writing about his exploits.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Excerpt from On Reading Ivalice

From _On Reading Ivalice_ :

_While the memoirs of His Excellency al-Cid ibn Hasan y Gutierres El Abdajorah Margrace of the Empire of Rozarria have long been popular reading throughout the nations of Ivalice, they have also served as a frustration to historians. Beyond the problem of Margrace's wandering narrative—often compared, in its ratio of first-hand accounts of important historical occurances to chapters of smutty ramblings, to the infamous multi-volume memoirs of Marquis Halim Ondore IV—is the work's incomplete nature. While many versions of Margrace's writings are sold with the bold claim of being unabridged, the original text, as it exists in the Great Library of Sagal-Yensa, quite clearly contains many sections that have been physically torn from the bindings, and presumably lost to time. These "lost" fragments occasionally arise offered by enterprising booksellers, but these are almost always forgeries. The following excerpt—found burned, stained, and hidden behind a nightstand in one of Margrace's palaces—has stood up to scrutiny, and appears to be the genuine article. One is only left to wonder: why was it removed from the original work? It is only one of the many mysteries of House Margrace's history._

...now past her teenage years, had most regrettably taken to the wearing of fuller skirts and sturdier bodices—although to mark the occasion of our three nations joining together in celebration, Her Majesty had arrived in Archades with her decolletage situated delightfully far more southward than it had been of late, and quite delightfully bejeweled and spangled to catch the eye. And ah! so my eye was caught throughout our dinner, and so distracted I was lead to ramble at length and let my cup be filled to near overflowing again and again.

So thick was I with the marvel of Archadian wine and the godsend of Dalmascan brandy, that when dinner had past and the evening's entertainments had begun, I found myself abandoning the hall where His Excellency's most skilled mezzo-soprano had set to serenade us to wander the halls of the Imperial palace, agitated by drink. My head clouded as it was, both in intoxication and in the reverie of my memories of my days as a young man that I had spent stalking the selfsame halls in missions both diplomatic and not near so noble, I soon found myself deep within the palace, and utterly lost.

To my good fortune and relief, though, I was soon to espy the most particular and distinctive ram's curl of the helmet of the Judge Magister Gabranth, who lurked in a darkened and surely forgotten hallway, haunting a corner like an iron-clad spiderweb. Such a foul mood came from him, to be so far from the festivities and so buried away from any hint of laughter or song, that I could nigh mistake him for the former Judge Magister Gabranth, whose ill humours I often met in my youthful explorations of the Archadian palace. As such it was, I could not help but tease, as I had when I was only just newly a man.

"Ah, Judge Magister, Your Honour, the little Northerner who hides himself away!" I knew the Judge Magister's true name, as I always had known, but even addled by the grape as I was, I did not fall to such indiscretion as to speak it where prying ears might hear. "Whatever dangers do you guard this passage from tonight? Perhaps an infestation of rats, or a terrible army of dust kittens and shadows?"

His Honour Gabranth gave me no response, nor did he even stir to look to where I stood before him. I began to think that perhaps I spoke with a ghost after all—surely the old Judge Gabranth would gladly haunt these halls, and at long last he could take vengeance upon me from beyond the veil. To put the stir of superstition to rest, I place a hand upon his breastplate, to feel it solid. 'Twas the true article, and I was surely safe.

"Are you not missed from the fete? Ah, I understand it! You dare not face such a dilemma of having so many of your masters, new and old, in one room? Whomever shall you kneel to, to whose feet shall you place your lips? Were I you, I would take the Lady's—no doubt it has been too long since Your Honour chanced a glance beneath her skirts."

No response! Not even a twitch, or a sussurus of breath! I grew annoyed, and thumped my knuckles upon his breast, to hear the scrap metal he ever bound himself in clatter.

"But if you are not interested, then, perhaps I shall go in your stead? Her Majesty shall feel only the whiskers, and never know the difference, save in the depth of her—"

And then was I cut off, by the sound of footfalls, and the call of the Emperor's voice. "Ah, al-Cid, there you are," the young lord spoke to me, his own tone filled with the mirth of wine. He came to stand beside me and meet my eye—at long last, some time in his seventeenth year, His Excellency had gained height worthy of manhood, and was left as long of leg and lean as one of my hounds. "Whatever are you doing?"

"Is it not obvious?" I asked him. "I am simply having a gentlemanly discussion with Judge Magister Gabranth."

The Emperor looked at me as though I had spoken in tongues, or had grown a mandragora's sprout from the top of my head. He reached forward to where the Judge Magister still yet watched us in silence, and with no preamble or question of permission, as was his right as emperor, removed His Honour's helmet.

Ah! Imagine my surprise to see that no head, nor face, nor hair, nor wisp of beard lay beneath. The suit of armor before me was full of wind, and no more.

"This... suit of armor is but a spare, al-Cid. Surely you must remember that Judge Gabranth dined with us... without his armor."

In my shame and my drunkenness, 'twas the best I could do to render a deep bow to the Judge's vacant armor, and request that the Emperor lead me back to the festivities, so that we might forget this had ever occured.


End file.
